Mommy Kyoya
by clue4211
Summary: After a Host Club party goes too far (courtesy of the Hitachiin's), Kyoya Ootori must temporarily take custody of a drunken Haruhi Fujioka, but even inebriated, she has a way of seeing through his most carefully constructed barriers. Two-Shot. KyoHaru.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, we'll see how this goes... This is a very different style than I normally write in, but I wanted to play with a more distanced narration. I plan it to be a two shot, and the second half should be up in not too long. I hope you enjoy!_

_I don't own Ouran. ;)_

**Mommy Kyoya**

A small brunette leaned into the side of a tall, dark haired young man, her face flushed and her steps wobbly with intoxication. Kyoya Ootori quietly opened the door to a glossy black limousine and helped Haruhi Fujioka inside, placing a thin hand on her shoulder as a guide to the seat. A look of irritation darkened his already near-black eyes. Tamaki Suoh and the Hitachiin Twins would do best to spend some time out of the country in the near future.

The girl giggled when he buckled her seat belt for her, as though it were a joke, and he sighed at the noise, studying the dim streetlamp out his window. "Just take us back to the house," he muttered tiredly at the driver, "it won't be any good handing Ranka an inebriated daughter." The Ootori boy flicked the window between the driver and him shut, a bit of his crossness evident in the sharp snap of the plastic. "Damn Suoh," he added almost inaudibly when he noticed a stain on the sleeve of his soft blue Ouran uniform. The brunette beside him had quieted as the car hummed to life, and now her head dropped against his arm in exhaustion. The young man's eyes flickered from the side window to the small girl's face, pressing into his bicep. Her eyes had fallen shut, and her small frame visibly grew and shrank with her breathing. He looked back out the window.

The limousine came to a stop in the Ootori estate's car port, and Kyoya quietly unbuckled both the teenagers' seat belts and scooped her, now thoroughly unconscious, up against his chest. Confusion showed in his driver's eyes at the show of effort, but it remained unacknowledged. "I'll take her upstairs – the second guest room; make sure to stock her dresser with clean clothes –size small, one pant."

Halfway up the first staircase, large, disoriented chestnut eyes blinked slowly up at him. He ignored the movement in his arms and proceeded rapidly through the empty hallways at what would be a business-like clip if it weren't for the weight he was carrying.

"My mom used to carry me to bed," the girl whispered and then began to giggle hysterically, as if she had said something hilarious. He winced as the noise swelled and furrowed his brow, like he had a headache. His neck tightened and relaxed as he swallowed, moonlight catching on his pale throat. "Mommy Kyoya!" A breath not audible over her hysteria slowly left his nostrils in what could almost be a sigh. The dark haired boy continued his ascent of the stairs silently, turning towards the guest wing. She kept laughing until they reached the door, when he shifted her weight to free his right hand and twist a silver doorknob. Her forehead accidentally brushed his cheek, and her brown eyes skimmed his face.

"Kyoya doesn't talk about his mom," she observed, suddenly solemn, and for a moment the boy's thin fingers tightened slightly where they held her, probably due to the shifting of her weight. "I don't know," she continued sadly and sleepily as he carried her into a dimly lit, cleanly modern bedroom, a weak yawn punctuating her words, "what happened." The girl's chestnut eyes looked up at him expectantly when he laid her back on a fluffy down comforter, waiting for an answer. His glasses caught the reflection of a small desk lamp's light, but he sounded like he was rolling his eyes.

"You could apply your extraordinary, scholarship student intellect to Wikipedia, Haruhi. It isn't like that information was kept under wraps." She shook her head, giggling when it made her dizzy.

"I don't wanna be like him," she giggled again, "buy a black notebook for all the secrets!" Her words were slurred and unsteady, and it seemed to be enough to return the boy's focus to his original task. He ignored her laughter, sat down on the very edge of the bed, and removed her shoes, furrowing his brow again as he loosened the laces.

"I hardly think that's the same-"

"He doesn't want to talk about it," she cut him off, and the boy glanced up at her face over the rims of his glasses. She was sad again, brown eyes dim and deep and worried. He was quiet. "He doesn't want people to know he feels lonely sometimes. He just wants to be everyone else's mommy instead."

"What would make you say that?" he murmured wonderingly, onyx irises shifting just slightly in the muted glow of the desk light. She sat up, surprisingly steady, and her wide eyes gazed into his.

"I'm always lonely."

There was a beat, and then the two teens moved together, like someone had flipped the switch on a magnet. Their lips met soft but urgent, desperate for closeness. Long, cream-colored fingers knotted up in short, coffee-colored hair. A pair of powder blue uniform jackets fell to the floor, and thin, rectangular glasses were tossed carelessly onto the small bedside table. His hands moved up the shape of her waist as her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him with her back onto the soft bedspread.

The position was not unfamiliar.

"Haruhi," he frowned. "Haruhi, don-" Her lips moved to his neck, and his objections died temporarily in his throat, where her slender fingers were removing his tie. "Y-You are very, very drunk, Haruhi Fujioka," the boy managed before she could do any more damage, and he shifted off the small, soft body below him, swallowing hard. "Goodnigh-" The girl's eyes were awful – wide and dark and tear-filled. She blinked, and a single clear droplet rolled down her cheek. "Sleep, Haruhi," he told her firmly, his voice cold and efficient again, eyebrows rising just slightly in impatience,  
but there was hesitation evident in the Shadow King's bared eyes.

The girl drew a breath rough with emotion – hurt and loneliness and grief, and third son of the Ootori family pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes before resignedly lying down, one arm stiffly around the girl's waist. "Sleep, Haruhi," he repeated. His voice was still disinterested, even annoyed, but she curled closer to his chest, oblivious or unconvinced, and buried her face in his shoulder.

_The End for today! Someday, I do plan to write a KyoHaru that's more than one or two chapters. I want to finish my other story first, though, so these will have to do. I'll update ASAP; thanks so much for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to everyone who read or reviewed the first chapter! I hope you enjoy the ending!_

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"Kyoya-sempai? What…?" The girl's voice was a little rough, like her throat was dry. She was tangled up in the white comforter below her and pressed into a strong shoulder, her hand on the adjoining chest, the owner's on her small hip. "Damn it," she swore crossly while she furrowed her brow as if in pain. The boy smirked and opened his dark eyes languidly, sounding like he had been awake for a while.

"I do believe that Tamaki and the Hitachiin's may have spiked the punch."

"They what?" the young woman snapped, already fuming, her hand pulling away from his chest and moving to massage her temple. The young man's hand did not move. "At the Host Club party?"

"The evidence would suggest," he answered her coolly, his bare eyes studying the ceiling.

"But what am I doing here, sempai?" Her anger shifted easily to the nearest Host Club member, the very near Host Club member.

"You were very, very drunk. Again, I believe the evidence is more than adequate for inference. You slept in longer than I did, and from the looks of things, you're suffering from a considerable headache."

"Is this your house, sempai?" Her words held a quality that would have made the rest of the club cautious in answering, but they seemed only to exacerbate Kyoya Ootori's indomitable sarcasm. His eyes shifted back to the young woman at his side.

"But of course, Haruhi. You don't recall? We got drunk and made passionate, passionate-"

"Would you cut it out? We're still dressed, sempai," she answered him evenly, even impatiently as she waited for another answer, eyes unwavering on his. His smirk twitched dangerously close to something more. "You wouldn't, anyway," she rolled her eyes now, voice matter-of-fact, before closing her eyes and muttering, "what did I do to deserve spending even my Saturday mornings with you bastards? I have to go grocery shopping today." The Shadow King's smirk faded, and he arched a single black eyebrow over at her.

"One of these days you may find your confidence misplaced, Haruhi Fujioka," he said it like a warning, but she just blinked over at him calmly, undaunted, perhaps a bit annoyed by his persistence.

"Not in you, sempai. We've talked about this before; you're way too nice a guy to take advantage of someone like that." He smirked again and then moved his thumb where it lay, slowly tracing the shape of her hip just below her dress shirt, which had come un-tucked in the night. The girl stiffened just slightly at the show of intimacy, but her face betrayed no emotion. "I told you to cut it out, sem-"

"You know, you did manage to get my tie off," he informed her in a voice low and almost melodic, his face leaning over hers as he moved his fingers in a trail up her waist, his breath shifting her hair slightly as it brushed near her cheek. For a moment the girl's eyes flickered, as if a fragment of memory had found a hold in her brain. "But then maybe you're right, in a way," the corner of his lips turned up in an arrogant smile, his own eyes flashing darkly, "I had nothing to gain, did I?" The Shadow King paused for a long moment, and then he sat up and took his thin wire glasses from the table beside the bed, letting his hand fall carelessly off the girl's small frame.

"But you didn't leave, either," Haruhi spoke finally. He blinked as if surprised, and for just a moment his eyes dropped back down to her face.

"No," the dark haired boy admitted, "I didn't." He adjusted his eyeglasses, and they caught the glare of the morning sun that streamed through the windows, blocking his eyes. He took on his Tour Guide voice. "Breakfast will be brought up in a few minutes. You're of course welcome to the guest bath, and there are fresh clothes in the bureau."

"Kyoya-sempai," the girl spoke the young man's name before he could move off the bed, and her voice held an echo of her somber tone of the previous night. She shifted quietly into a sitting position, knees drawn up towards her chest, but he didn't look at her. Small fingers brushed his arm, and his hands gripped slightly at the comforter below them. "Did I say something last night that… I mean, did something happen to… I thought I remembered-" As she spoke, the boy absentmindedly adjusted his glasses again, his fingers lingering on the frames as though the metal held some faint memory, and before she could finish her sentence, his body pivoted smoothly into hers.

There was no hesitation in her response. Just as the night before, the two teenagers moved together in near perfect unison. Haruhi Fujioka's fingers wove into Kyoya Ootori's silky black hair, and Kyoya Ootori's hands pulled Haruh Fujioka's slender waist close. Sober and well-rested, there was less desperation in their movement, but no less emotion. For a few long seconds their lips moved quietly together, their breathing spiked and fell synchronously, their hands drew each other closer, but then a familiar smirk pulled up at the corner of the boy's lips as he smoothly put a breath of space between their bodies.

"There's a toothbrush for you in the adjoining bathroom," he whispered, lips still brushing hers. "You'd do well to take advantage of it." The girl's jaw tightened.

"Go eat your damn breakfast, sempai." His dark smirk widened to what seemed remarkably like a genuine smile, his cold onyx eyes lightening to something extraordinarily akin to laughter. He slipped off the bed, scooped his blue uniform coat off the floor, and nonchalantly checked his cellphone. She rolled her eyes at his back and muttered a curse under her breath, which he pretended not to hear.

"That qualification met, Haruhi," the third son of the Ootori family added casually but suddenly from the doorway, glancing up from his phone and back at her over his shoulder only briefly, "I wouldn't be ardently opposed to your staying for lunch."

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_Thank you all again for taking the time to read! :)_


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